Quand le ciel est tout clair
by Senshi'sBard
Summary: Suou Yuzuru said, "I'll put this as simply as I can, Tamaki: she went after you; you came back for her. What are you waiting for?" Post-anime. Rating may change. TamakixHaruhi
1. Festival

Second Ouran fic, hooray! Hope you enjoy it. I suppose the wanting to know what happens right after the anime ends is a little overdone, but I had to have my take on it, so here you are.

Sorry if the French bugs you - I just had to play around with Éclair's name. Yayyy puns.

* * *

The fireworks came to an end, but Tamaki did not let go of her hands. Half of him feared that if he released her, he'd fall back into the car beside Éclair and be whisked away from Haruhi, from goodness and happiness and Ouran and Haruhi.

_Ne sois pas ridicule_, he chastised himself. _Le ciel est tout clair ce soir. Il n'y a pas de nuages, pas d'éclair, pas de tonnerre_. Dreamily, he smiled at the pun_. Haruhi a peur des orages; peut-être elle a un sens. L'orage d'Éclair Tonnerre a failli de me déménager_ _à France_…He might never have seen Haruhi again.

And now he had the chance to hold her sensitive fingers between his own, and smile down on her, and watch her lovely brown eyes gleam in the dancing lights overhead. It was extraordinary, it was miraculous, how things had come out… all because of her.

"Stop keeping Haruhi to yourself!" cried an impatient redhead beside him. "I want to dance with her again!"

"You already had your turn, Hikaru," said Haruhi, and Tamaki brightened at her willingness to stay near to him.

"So has the boss, and _he _gets to - "

Tamaki clapped a hand over Hikaru's mouth before he could go any further. "No, that's alright. Dance with the others again, Haruhi. I don't mind." He let his eyes linger on hers a bit longer than was necessary, but soon enough the moment had passed and she was passed along to Hikaru, her lovely white dress billowing in her wake.

He found he couldn't watch, somehow, and though there were plenty of girls to be danced with _and a _proper _host would have asked for a new partner immediately_, he found himself wandering through the empty school, his hands in his pockets, quite sober and quite alone.

_You should be bouncing off the walls, Suou_, he reminded himself somewhat lifelessly. _She saved you, didn't she? You nearly lost everything, and she saved you._

But he knew his journey wasn't quite through; that some edge of fate, some mysticism he harbored deep within his spirit, would not allow the night to pass without a final confrontation. With Haruhi. Alone. The thought made him jittery with anxiety and excitement, and it was quite a distracted young man who found himself in his father's office before Ootori Yoshio and Suou Yuzuru.

"Ah, Tamaki-kun," said Yoshio somewhat coolly. "What brings you here?"

"I - well," he said, rather uncertain as to the answer himself. "I was just… wandering."

"Plenty of young ladies without a partner," said Yuzuru cryptically, gesturing through the window to the dancers outside.

"I know," said Tamaki. "But…"

"No, I understand," Yoshio sighed, also casting his gaze over the dancers. "_She _is occupied."

Tamaki was silent for a moment before saying, "Yes."

Yoshio nodded. "I wanted to thank you, Tamaki-kun. For this… Host Club. For Kyouya."

He raised his eyebrows. "Ootori-san…?"

Tamaki was graced with only a mysterious smile before Yoshio stood from the sofa and bowed politely to Yuzuru. "About my request, earlier," he said, "why don't we simply… see how things pan out?"

Yuzuru smiled wanly. "That's as good as admitting defeat." They both gave Tamaki a significant look.

"Perhaps," replied Kyouya's father. "Perhaps. He's quite a driven young man, after all." He nodded to Tamaki as he headed to the door. "Take care, both of you."

Yuzuru rotated back to the window as soon as the other man was out of sight. "Well, Tamaki," he said. "What do I make of all this? Kyouya's found his footing, it seems; what about you?"

Thoroughly confused, Tamaki said, "What _about _me?"

In response, he received another question: "What made you come back?"

"Haruhi," he replied immediately. "It was Haruhi, of course."

"Of course," Yuzuru echoed. "Then I'll put this as simply as I can, Tamaki: she went after you; you came back for her. What are you waiting for?"

"Oh," said Tamaki, rather stunned. "O-oh." He frowned. "You're - you're alright with that? She's a commoner…"

"Do you really think that? That she's _common?_"

"Well no," he said with earnestness, "no one could, once they got to know her."

"I'd like to get to know her, Tamaki," said Yuzuru calmly, his hands clasped behind his back. "She does seem like a particularly fascinating young woman.

"That's very… open minded of you, er, Chairman."

"Chairman." Yuzuru chuckled. "I've been thinking on that. It sounds far too cold, doesn't it?" He glanced over his shoulder at his son. "I think Father will do nicely for now."

Tamaki grinned. Had it been anyone else, he would have smothered them with his signature bone-crushing hug, but this was his father, the lastperson in the world who would ever desire a hug of any sort. "Alright."

Yuzuru hummed a small laugh. "The next time I see you, boy, I want to see you smiling. Agreed?"

"Yes sir." He came close to saluting, but decided against it.

"Now out with you." A hand came loose to flap at the door. "It's been a long day, and I'm tired." But when Tamaki glanced over his shoulder, his father was still staring out the window at the crowd of students dancing.

* * *

He broke into a run as he drew closer to the gathering. The music had drifted off into a small corner, where only the most dedicated of couples still held each other close, swaying gently back and forth. Off to the side, Haruhi was in stitches as Hikaru and Kaoru both tried to dance with her at once, resulting in a sort of Haruhi sandwich.

"Get off me!" she gasped between laughs, but Kaoru only leaned closer, squishing her into Hikaru's chest.

"Oh, darling Hikaru," he sighed dramatically, "I feel that we will never be as close as we once were."

"Indeed," agreed his twin, "there is a sort of third party to our relationship that we will never be rid of…"

"Like a specter between us…"

"In a long white dress…"

Haruhi gulped in air and stuck a hand out from between the two boys. "K-Kyouya-senpai! Help me out here, would you?"

"You seem to be enjoying yourself," said Kyouya, quite wickedly. "What would be the benefit of removing you from the situation?"

"Geh," she panted, "bastard."

The Tamaki of yesterday would have swooped in, knocked Hikaru and Kaoru aside, and loudly proclaimed himself Haruhi's savior. But right now he was not that Tamaki. Right now he loved her too dearly and too intensely to think of such antics. He slowed his jog to a quick walk and approached the group from Kyouya's side of the cluster.

"Where've you been?" Kyouya asked without looking at him.

"Saw your dad," Tamaki replied, his eyes fixed on Haruhi - or what he could see of her. "He was talking to my father."

"And why were you with them, exactly?"

"I don't know, really." Tamaki shoved a hand through his hair, an act of nervousness and desperation to which he never would have resorted on a normal day. "I suppose I just wanted… his blessing?"

"His warrant of freedom, perhaps," Kyouya agreed. "And now you want mine?"

Tamaki glanced at his friend helplessly.

"Well, regardless of whether you need it, you've got it. But you should know me better than that, Tamaki. I wouldn't meddle in your romantic affairs for the world."

"I know you _wouldn't_," said Tamaki, "but I'd like to think that if I were completely out of my mind, you'd interfere for the better."

"If it were profitable, certainly," said Kyouya, and Tamaki had to laugh.

"I've never been afraid this way before," he said, and Kyouya replied,

"That's a sign that something's different." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Something's changed." He glanced sidelong at Tamaki. "Maybe _you've_ changed."

"Maybe," Tamaki echoed. But he already knew he had - so much - too much. He was floundering.

"So when will you do it?"

"Now, I guess." A thrill of fear shot through him at the thought.

"Don't do anything stupid," Kyouya advised him sagely.

Tamaki glared at him. "_Thanks_, Mother."

Kyouya grinned. "Anytime, Daddy."

They stood there for a few more moments, idly watching Haruhi finally break free of the twins and run behind Mori's back; Hikaru pursued her, jostling other couples and yelling, while Kaoru hovered behind uncomfortably.

"Rather a scene, aren't they?" Kyouya mused.

"Yes," said Tamaki happily, "but they're _our _scene." Upon intercepting a strange look from his friend, Tamaki insisted, "Oh, you know what I mean."

Kyouya sighed. "Yes," he said, "I do."

Just then an irritable Haruhi ducked behind Kyouya's back. "Look, Kyouya-senpai," she said, eyeing Hikaru from beneath his arm, "giving me a hand here might not be 'to your benefit' or whatever, but would you mind being charitable for once in your life?"

"Charitable," Kyouya said thoughtfully. "A strange concept… I do wonder - "

"Never mind!" said Haruhi hastily as Hikaru came at her again with a loud cackle. "I'll just… go hide in a rose bush for the rest of the night…"

"I don't think so." Tamaki grabbed her wrist with one hand and stuck out the other; Hikaru barreled into his palm but was, through Tamaki's intervention, more or less kept at bay. "I wanted another dance."

Haruhi paused from kicking Hikaru in the shins and looked up at Tamaki with her huge brown eyes, a pink blush perked upon her cheeks. "You - you did?"

He smiled his affirmation.

"Oh… okay!" She grinned up at him. "Um, Hikaru, seriously, you can stop now. I'm going to dance with Tamaki-senpai."

Hikaru quit struggling against Tamaki (_thank God_, thought the blonde; his arm was starting to kill him) and drooped in defeat. "Very well," he said in a rather spot-on impression of Nekozawa, "but sleep with one eye open, Haruhi." He drifted away.

Haruhi glanced at Tamaki again and giggled against her hand. He melted - Christ, she was adorable_._

"Hikaru's a little hyperactive at the moment," she excused him.

"Or maybe he just wants to get your attention," Tamaki said. She bit her lip and looked away, and he punched himself internally. _The goal is not to make her uncomfortable, you idiot_. "Ah - Haruhi?" He offered his hand.

She wrapped her fingers around his own, and he led her to the circle of couples; she held out her hand as if ready to waltz, but he lightly tugged her wrists around his neck and, entwining his arms around her waist, pulled her tight against him. Her eyes widened in surprise, but she gradually relaxed into his chest and swayed easily along with him.

"Do you know this song?" he murmured into her hair.

She shook her head.

"I feel like I do, somehow," he said. "Though I can't exactly remember how I heard it…" He began to hum quietly, his chin tucked against his collarbone, his nose brushing the top of her head. She smelled so intoxicating, like coconut and strawberry and cleanliness. The song was languid and sorrowful, but the quiet joy he'd been avoiding all night exploded softly inside of him and soared listlessly like a feathery yellow balloon above his head. He was free, he was safe, and Haruhi was in his arms. Éclair was gone, the Host Club was secure, and Haruhi was in his arms.

Without thinking, without fearing, he mouthed into the warm wind, "I love you."

She didn't flinch a muscle, and there was no way she could have heard him when no sound had escaped his lips, but he felt better. It had been good practice, at least, for the real thing.

He frowned pensively. What was the best way to tell her? Whisper it in her ear, right now? Take her on a walk through the gardens? Write her a letter? Send her flowers? He could always compose a song for her, but that would take _time_, and his father (not the Chairman, his _father_) was not a patient man.

_The next time I see you, boy, I want to see you smiling._

"Haruhi," he muttered.

"Senpai?"

"Come with me?"

Without another look back at the others, without a single thought, she followed him. He led her through the maze of pathways that led to the fountain from which she'd rescued her books that one day so long ago. The music was barely audible here; the murmur of the crowd was drowned out by the chirruping of crickets, and the lights strung up about the windows skirted off the water with a glistening delicacy. Haruhi, her dress glimmering in the moonlight, her face round and illuminated by the stars, was breathtaking.

"Uh… senpai?"

He realized he was staring. He had never been caught staring before. He had never _stared _before. He'd never wanted to, never needed to. And now he couldn't tear his eyes away from her…

"Er," he said. "Right." Wildly, he searched for something adequate to say - some flowery metaphor, some trite expression, one of those winsome sort of phrases he was usually brimming with.

He came up bare, so he settled for the only thing he could think of _the truest, the most honest thing_ - "You look so beautiful right now."

Her eyes grew characteristically huge, and then her brow eased into a frown. "Um… are you feeling okay, Tamaki-senpai?"

He practically smacked his hands into his palms, but somehow he restrained himself. "I'm fine, Haruhi," he said with a little laugh. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"It's been a weird day for all of us," she said, shrugging. "Uh, senpai… um. Thanks for, you know, jumping off the bridge for me."

"I'd jump off a lot of things for you, Haruhi," he said through a crooked grin. "Not just a bridge."

She chuckled. "Um… well, thanks." She looked around for a moment before deciding to sit on the fountain's edge. "We really thought we were going to lose you today, you know."

He sat next to her and brushed a bit of hair away from her eyes. "I thought I was going to lose you, too. But you know what I remembered?"

Her eyebrows raised in a silent question.

"I promised you once I would never let you be alone again," he whispered in her ear. "What kind of senpai would I be if I didn't keep my promises, hm?"

"An untrustworthy one, I guess," she said with a slight smile. She shrugged a little awkwardly. "You don't need to worry about me, though. I'm not… I can take care of myself."

"Except when you're falling into a large body of water," Tamaki laughed. "Well, Haruhi, you've got a point." He tapped his finger against his chin in mock contemplation before swooping in upon her, drinking in the way her eyes widened as he pressed his cheek against hers, his lips finding her left ear this time. "But maybe," he said, and she shivered at his heated breath on her neck, "I _like _worrying about you." He moved away a bit to gauge her reaction and found her still as stone, a skinny little deer in headlights. _Adorable_. "I _want _to take care of you," he continued, "because believe it or not, Haruhi, this selfish bastard has finally found someone he cares about more than himself." He put a bit of distance between them and sighed to himself; that, at least, was out.

She only watched her shoes with extreme dedication.

"What I'm trying to say, Haruhi," he said, propping his chin on his fists, "is… it's you. I care for you very much." Her silence was not in the least encouraging, but he supposed he'd better let it all go before he imploded with worry.

Her gold-brown eyes peeked at him from beneath her bangs. "Hm." She brought a knuckle to her mouth and nibbled pensively on the skin. "But… senpai…" She waited. "So the girls you always… you know, flirt with…"

He laughed nervously. "Ah… well, that's… a special case, you know…"

"Special case? It's all you ever do."

"But it's so different!" he exclaimed earnestly. "So… so…" Words failed him. Just one look at her sent his tongue into tangles. "Different."

"How?" she insisted, her voice gentle but firm.

"Well…" He flailed for an adequate explanation. "Haruhi, if I ever felt the way about any of my customers the way I do about you, I would _never _be able to… to act the way I… well, you know how I act."

She barked her laughter. "Oh, I know."

Sheepish, he grinned, ducking his head. "Those girls… they know it's not real. They're in it for the thrill and for the fun and to have someone devote all their energy just to them for a little while. Some of them do get in over their heads, of course…"

"I'll say," Haruhi grumbled, a scowl on her face.

He lit up inside; was she jealous? "Yes, but Haruhi, it's roles we play - it's all just roles on a stage, and I might love the limelight, but at some point I have to take off my mask and go live a real life." Tentatively, he reached forward to cover her hand with his own. "I want you in that life."

"Senpai," said Haruhi blandly, "you really need to stop with the ridiculous analogies."

He grinned again, shamelessly. "It comes naturally, darling."

"That's what worries me," she quipped back. Her shoulders hunched, she heaved a heavy sigh. "Look, I'm not sure how to say this but… I don't know if this is such a good idea."

_Something inside him snapped - a tiny little burst - and he crumpled. He fell. He slithered to the ground and died._

He sat very still on the edge of the pond next to Haruhi and said nothing.

"You see…" Her voice cracked, and he looked at her in alarm to see her eyes swimming with tears. "You're really just… so important, don't you see that? To all of us, and to me, and… and I want the best for you, senpai, and… I'm sure you can do much better than me."

Better - _better? _Than _her? _But… how? "I don't understand," he said slowly. "I don't _know _anyone better than you."

"Don't be stupid," she muttered, swiping at her eyes. "S-sorry, I don't mean to be a girl on you, or anything…"

"I'm not being stupid," he retaliated; "it's true. You're wonderful, Haruhi. You don't see it, but you are. You're brilliant and beautiful and wonderful in every way." He paused for a moment. "And you're perfectly allowed to be a girl anytime you wish. You _are _a girl, remember?"

She snuffled pathetically. Dear God, she was precious.

"Come here," he ordered her, and he slung an arm around her waist, pulled her close against him. He breathed differently when he was touching her; his heart fell into a different pattern, a rhythm that aligned with the stars to create a cosmic perfection.

Or so he liked to think.

"I want the best for you, too, Haruhi. But it's not about being better than anyone. I just want a chance to make you happy."

She sniffed again. "But… I… you're a _Suou_, aren't you? What would your family say?"

"Actually," said Tamaki, "my father quite likes you."

"But your grandmother?"

Tamaki said, "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

Shifting slightly against his arm, Haruhi looked up at him with a drawn expression. "Are you sure about this, Tamaki-senpai?"

He shook his head, smiling in disbelief. "Why don't I simplify this," he suggested. "Fujioka Haruhi, will you let me take you out to eat sometime?"

"Oh. Well." She stared at her lap again and blushed. "I - yeah, of course. Of course I will."

He nudged her with his shoulder. "We could get ootoro?"

A shy grin appeared on her cheeks. "Yeah… yeah. I'd like that." Biting her lips, she glanced up at him. "Assuming you don't do anything stupid, that is?"

His hand flew to his heart as he drew in a great gasp. _Just like Kyouya said._ "Haruhi! How could you say such a thing! Me, do something _stupid? _What a ridiculous notion! What have I ever done that was _stupid? _My actions are consistently regal and consist of the utmost maturity - "

She clapped a hand over his mouth. "Okay, okay," she said, giggling. "I get it. You're the very essence of composure at all times."

"Naturally," he huffed, and didn't stop looking at her. She turned away, blushing, but he persevered: "So… is tomorrow alright for you? I'll pick you up around five?"

"Yeah. Yeah, definitely." All the glory and happiness in her eyes was lost upon the cobblestone path, but he managed to catch a bit of it from the side. "Thanks, senpai."

"For what?" he said, surprised. "I should be the one thanking you…"

"No," she insisted. "Not for asking me. For… for everything."

He could tell that there was so much more that wanted to come out, but Haruhi wasn't one to open up easily; and if it was time she needed, it was time she'd get. She could have all the time in the world. They were young and fresh and free, and he was in love (though he'd rather die than tell her and scare her away).

"Well," he said, "maybe someday you can tell me what you mean by that."

"Someday," she agreed, and her eyes danced like the fountain in yellow light.

They sat quietly for a moment, or a thousand moments, his arm tight around her waist, her hand on his knee. And finally, he made up his mind to speak, and said, "Thanks for falling off that bridge, Haruhi."

She laughed. "You know I couldn't let you go _that _easily."

* * *

When Tamaki reappeared at the edge of the fading crowd, Haruhi's hand clasped in his own, Suou Yuzuru noted with satisfaction that his son was smiling. He lifted his eyes to the brimming moon.

The sky was so clear tonight.

* * *

Translations of Tamaki's little inner dialogue:

_Don't be ridiculous. The sky is so clear tonight. No clouds, or lightning, or thunder... Haruhi's afraid of storms. Maybe she has a point. The storm of Éclair Tonnerre almost swept me away to France._

So yeah. I just thought it was hilarious that Éclair's name was Lightning Thunder. *Laughs raucously* I'm probably like the last person to pick up on that, but anyway, that's my little play on words. Fun fun.

(If my French is inaccurate, please forgive me, and do correct me!)

Oh, and for those who don't know, _Quand le ciel est tout clair _means _When the sky is clear_.

Thanks for reading!

~SB


	2. Firsts

Hey, kids! I'm back with more plotless romance! Hooray!

Ignore the obnoxious Othello references... I really don't know where that came from. It just kind of happened...

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own these people. Characters. Whatever.

* * *

Haruhi cleared her throat.

Her father glanced up from his bowl of midnight cereal in surprise. "Oh, hi sweetie. You're home late."

"Yeah. It was that thing at school, remember?"

He dabbed at his lipstick with a paper napkin. "Hnn, right. Some sort of festival, wasn't it?"

"Something like that." She lowered herself onto the floor adjacent to him. "Uh, so, Dad. I, um… I sort of… have something I wanted to talk to you about."

Mascara-laden eyes narrowed pointedly. "What's that, now?"

"Well… ah. Do you… well, I'm sure you - you remember Suou Tamaki?"

Ryoji gave a harrumphing sort of sound and took another slurp of cereal. "What, are you pregnant?"

"Funny," said Haruhi drily. "Really hilarious."

"How do you know I'm not serious?" he insisted.

"If you were serious," said Haruhi, "you'd be throwing something across the room and screaming."

He snorted. "Yeah, well, I'm too tired for that."

Sighing, Haruhi said, "I'm not pregnant. I just - I'm going - on a date. With him. With Tamaki-senpai. Uh, tomorrow."

Ryoji said nothing for a long moment, scanning the newspaper instead. Then he lifted a slender, feminine finger and wagged it at her. "Wait…" he muttered. "Wasn't he - wasn't he the one who was leaving the Host Club?"

Haruhi gaped. "You were _listening_ when I told you that?"

"I have ears, you know," said Ryoji, sniffling in high offense.

"You were passed out on the table!"

"I'm quite the multi-tasker!"

"Ugh." Haruhi buried her head in her hands. "Okay, well… I just want you to know, so… when he comes to the door, don't, you know, bite his head off, or anything."

"Tamaki-kun," said Ryoji, darkly. "Hmm. I dunno, Haruhi. That Kyouya-kun's a nice boy, why don't you date him instead?"

"_Because I don't _like _Kyouya-senpai!" _Haruhi replied hotly. "I mean, I don't dislike him, I just - I'll date who _I _like, thank you very much!"

"Alright, alright," said Ryoji, rolling his eyes. "Don't get yourself all worked up. I'm working all night tomorrow, as it is, so I won't be around much."

Haruhi thought, _Maybe that's for the better_. "Alright then. Good night, Dad."

"Night, sweetie."

She shuffled into her small bedroom and wearily peeled off her clothes. She was so excited it exhausted her in a delirious haze, so happy she was sick with anxiety. She collapsed in her underwear onto her futon and stared up at the ceiling, watching the streetlight dance a silly little jig on the walls of her room.

_It's you_, Tamaki whispered in her ear. _I care about you… very much._

_It's you._

_It's you._

_It's you._

_Not Éclair, _she thought. _Not her. Not anyone else. Just me. Just Haruhi. _

She had come so close to losing him today… and yet she could still see his expression as he launched off the bridge toward her, his burning determination, his heartbreaking earnestness - she could still feel his arms wrap around her and as she plummeted into cold, dark water she had never felt warmer, never safer.

"He likes _me_," she whispered aloud. "Tamaki-senpai likes _me_."

Haruhi could count on one hand the number of times she had cried in her lifetime, but for some reason tonight added another instance to her list. She rolled up in her blanket and hugged her pillow to her chest and sobbed with confusion and joy and worry and relief. When her tears had dried, she fetched Othello from the little bookcase on her desk and read until she fell asleep.

Her dreams were very strange, full of Éclair and a heartbreaking tune on the piano. She kept squinting through a goldish mist to find where the music was coming from, but all she could make out was a lean figure and the piercing turquoise of Éclair's bright eyes from where she hovered over him.

"My lord," she heard Éclair murmur, "you know I love you."

A smooth, rich voice replied, "I think thou dost; for I know thou art full of love and honesty…"

Éclair ran her hands over the blurry figure's outline, caressing him. "I do humbly beseech you of your pardon," she said in her eerie silken tone, "for loving you too much."

The music halted abruptly, and Haruhi found Tamaki's eyes staring deep into her soul from his seat on the piano bench. They were cold and glassy and terribly beautiful. Without straying from Haruhi's face, he took Éclair's hand in his own and kissed it gently. "I am bound to thee forever… _honest Éclair…"_

In her dream, she screamed and hollered and pounded her fists against whatever surface was near; she called out his name, "_Tamaki, please!" _

"Think of thy sins!" he roared at her.

"_They are the loves I bear to you!" _she pled, but then he snatched Éclair by the waist and pressed his face against hers in a violent kiss, and Haruhi, forsaken and forgotten, crumpled against the cold stone floor of the music room.

Then she was awake and trembling and sweaty, all tangled in her blankets, her now-bent copy of Othello smushed beneath her hip. She scowled at it through the dim pre-dawn light and chucked it at the wall.

"Damn play," she hissed.

She slept fitfully on and off till about eleven, and when she finally dragged herself out of her room, she found a note from her father saying he had a hair appointment, and would be back around one. Moodily, she slunk around the kitchen and made some tea, which she sipped while staring at the same spot on the newspaper for twenty minutes straight. She felt rather ill, as if there was a frog in her stomach that was squashing around and moving her intestines.

Time passed horrifically slowly. She washed a few dishes that her father had left lying around, dried them carefully, put them away. She took a shower that lasted far too long and washed her hair with strawberry-scented shampoo; she dried off her hair with a rough scrubbing and put on some old sweatpants and a t-shirt of her father's that had some obscure band logo on it. After sorting her dirty clothes into piles all over the minimal floor space in her bedroom, she dumped a load into the laundry bag and hauled it down three flights of stairs into the basement of the apartment building. Then she realized she forgot the laundry detergent, and sprinted back up to fetch it. The stairs jolted and banged as she ran back down again, her hair flopping in her eyes. It was getting a little unruly; she needed a haircut herself, but she usually just trimmed her own bangs.

She started up the washing machine and headed back to her floor, detergent in hand.

Back in her room, she considered reading more of Othello, but the strange dream last night had unnerved her; she chose instead to do her physics homework, and spent the majority of her afternoon happily pondering over equations and making copious mistakes (somehow, she wasn't focusing quite as well as she might have liked). She didn't even hear her father come in from his appointment, but they had an unspoken rule that when her door was closed, she was not to be disturbed, and so she meditated on her homework without interruption.

Around four o'clock, however, a knock disturbed her silent reverie; she jumped a few feet and said, "Y-yeah?"

Ryoji poked his head into the room. "I haven't seen you all day. Just making sure you're alive."

Her laugh was a bit forced. "Very alive," she replied a little giddily. "You scared me."

He grinned. "Sorry. Say, what do you think?" He stepped further into the room, held out his hands and spun, allowing her the full effect of his new hairstyle.

"Very, ah, manly," Haruhi said with a smile.

"Thank you." He bowed. "Now, Haruhi, dear, about that date…"

"What about it?" she asked uncertainly.

"When did you say it was?"

She glanced at the clock. "Ah… he should be here in about an hour." The frog leaped about in her gut at the thought.

Ryoji's eyes narrowed. "And you're wearing… _that?"_ He gestured to the sweatpants.

"Well… no," she said, "I just… I wasn't sure…"

"Not sure what to wear?" cried Ryoji, his eyelashes fluttering tragically. He unleashed the complete theatricality that was Ranka upon her: "Darling Haruhi, alone and forgotten, not knowing what to wear on her first date with a _boy!"_

"Dad, it's not a big deal, I'm sure I can…"

It was too late. Ryoji (or rather, Ranka) was already buried in the small closet, haphazardly scattering clothes onto the floor. "I'll find you something to wear, my dear, worry not! Your father is perfectly equipped for this sort of thing." His voice was a bit muffled.

"Dad, seriously…"

"Now, let's see, what color fits you best? I do like you in green, but purple would do nicely as well…"

"DAD!"

He turned around, half buried in what seemed to be the entirety of her wardrobe. "Hm?"

"I can - I'm - I mean, thanks, really, but I'm fine. I can do this myself." She bit her lip and hoped he wouldn't get all emotional on her.

"Oh," he said quietly. "Oh, alright." He brightened. "You always were independent, Haruhi. I'll give you that."

"Right," she said, feeling a bit ashamed. "It's not that I don't appreciate it, I just - "

"Don't worry about it, sweetie. I understand." He unearthed himself from her closet and dropped a kiss on her head. "But when it comes to the makeup…"

She gazed up at him in desperation.

"I won't go overboard, I swear!" he insisted.

"I don't know…" She gnawed on the inside of her cheek. "I wasn't really planning on… that."

"But it's your first date!"

"I know… it's just… that's not my style, Dad." She smiled up at him. "Tamaki's surrounded by girls who like that stuff, but he asked me out instead. I'm okay with how I look, and I guess he is too, so I figure, what's there to worry about? You know?"

The corner of his mouth twitched up. "Alright, Haruhi. You know yourself better than anyone." Another kiss to the head. "Good luck tonight, sweetie. And don't be out too late, alright?"

She giggled maliciously. "You wouldn't know, even if I was…"

"Back by eleven-thirty," he said firmly. "You know I don't want you out on the streets at midnight."

"Dad," she said, "you don't still think that all crime happens exactly at twelve o'clock, do you?"

"Eleven-thirty," he repeated, and he shut the door.

In the end, she chose a deep blue paneled skirt (which she rarely wore) and a plain white blouse (which she wore too often). She only had one pair of nice shoes - they were flat and black and practical, but very comfortable, and she figured that was all that mattered. She spent a good ten minutes in the bathroom, fidgeting with her hair and wondering if she still looked like a boy. She heard her father call out that he was meeting a friend, see you later, have fun, ELEVEN THIRTY, and she glanced at her reflection mischievously.

Quickly, so she wouldn't feel so silly, she undid an extra button on her blouse, revealing just a tiny bit of whatever cleavage she had. Which wasn't much. Really, her _father _made more of a woman than she did.

She pushed that out of her mind and quit the bathroom, heading towards her mother's shrine. There was a little jewelry box that played a tinkling song on the shelf, and she carefully opened it, allowing it to herald her with pretty fairy music. It always made her think of golden sparkles, like stardust.

"I'm going on a date, Mom," she whispered, and she realized her voice was wobbly with excitement and anticipation. "With Tamaki-senpai. I know you'd like him." With quaking fingers, she removed the single necklace inside: a thin gold chain with a single dangling pearl. After a few tries she managed to fasten it around her neck. "Well," she said, "wish me lu-"

The doorbell rang and she jumped ten times out of her skin in rapid succession.

_Oh shit, he's here, he's here, SHIT_.

She attempted to wipe profanities clean from her head and rushed to the door, brushing out her skirt before fumbling at the lock and wrenching it open.

The sight that met her was one of the loveliest and scariest things she'd ever beheld. Tamaki stood before her, looking carefully casual in jeans and a dark violet v-neck, staring at his shoes, a finger hooked on his belt loop. Upon hearing the door open, he glanced up at her from beneath his bangs.

"Hey, Haruhi," he said softly.

Jesus Christ in heaven, if that color didn't make his eyes practically explode. In a good way. She nodded to herself. Definitely a good explosion.

Anyway.

"H-hi," she stammered. "You're, um… sorry, I just have to, uh, get my bag." Lord, since when could he make her _stutter? _She _never _stuttered. _Ever_.

…well. Hardly ever.

…maybe on occasion.

"Sure thing," he grinned. "Hey, you look, uh… you look great."

She giggled, her shoulders rising a little. "Um. Thank you. Thanks," she repeated. She wondered if it was too weird to say _You too_. Because he did. He looked downright orgasmic.

…ooh. Not a good idea. That brought on a whole slew of thoughts she did _not _want to get into just yet. God, he was bad for her. Very, very bad.

"Do you want to come in?" she asked, purposefully interrupting her inner monologue. "Just for a minute?"

"Sure!" he said, and then the old bouncing Tamaki was back. He sauntered inside after her and gazed around the house. "It seems like a long time ago that we were all here."

"It was a long time ago," she agreed, grabbing her purse from the kitchen counter and checking to make sure she had everything - key, wallet, phone.

He laughed suddenly. "Remember when your dad walked in on us?"

She chuckled but blushed beet red at the memory. She hadn't batted an eyelash at the time, but looking back, the thought of him crouched on top of her like that…

_Steering _away _from that train of thought, remember? _she said wryly to herself.

"Yeah," she replied. "That was… sorry about him. He's just a little, you know. Protective."

"Oh, no, I understand," Tamaki said lightly. "I can be a little overprotective myself."

He caught her eye and they both flushed slightly.

"So senpai… I don't know if you had anywhere in mind to go… but I was thinking about it, and, ah… there's this little place that's got some pretty good sushi- "

"Okay!" he enthused. "Where is it?"

"Oh, just down on the corner…"

They strolled down the street in a slightly awkward silence until Tamaki spoke up.

"I was reading A Midsummer Night's Dream last night," he began.

"No way!" she said. "I was reading Othello!"

His eyes were twinkling as he glanced down at her. "A mystical vibe connects us," he said in an eerie voice.

"Okay, Nekozawa-san," she snorted, shoving him with her shoulder. He laughed and took the opportunity to grab a hold of her hand.

The frog in her stomach made a sort of squelch, and it felt kind of nice. His fingers were lean and bony, a little sweaty, and very long.

"Actually," said Haruhi quietly, "I had a dream about Éclair."

Tamaki sighed and gazed out over the street. "Yes," he replied, "I have a feeling she'll be in our subconscious networks for a while." He smiled down at her. "But that's no matter. I'm just glad to be here with you."

She blushed and looked away. "Yeah," she murmured. "Me too."

"Anyway," he continued, "I was thinking a Shakespearean theme would be nice for the Club. We'll see what Kyouya says, of course, but it would be interesting. Also," he added as an afterthought, "I'm really hungry."

She giggled. "Okay, then."

"No, really. I'm excited for sushi." He was practically bouncing.

_Same old Tamaki_, she thought, shaking her head. But she clung to his hand all the same.

They managed to talk about school and friends and the Host Club during dinner (the ootoro was as tasty as ever) and afterwards, they stared at the people walking by their corner.

"I had a plan," said Tamaki evasively, his eyes tracking an irritable looking old man as he grumbled down the street.

She looked up at him expectantly.

He leaned in close to her, his eyes flashing with excitement. "Have you ever been go-karting?"

* * *

Tamaki was terrible at go-karting. Haruhi was hardly surprised, but he did have her in stitches, the way he was yelling at the cart to _go faster, what in the world is wrong with you? _

"Senpai," she gasped, a few tears of mirth streaming down her face as she watched him walk away on wobbly legs, "you really aren't made for that kind of thing, are you?"

"That cart was defective," he said delicately, pausing for a moment to twist his shirt around.

She rolled her eyes. "Sure it was."

"I tell you it was! That's probably why they painted it yellow. As a warning."

"Senpai, that makes no sense whatsoever."

He took a glance at the track and threw his head back in sudden peals of laughter. "Did I embarrass you?" he asked, his eyes glinting wickedly.

"Oh, you don't need to worry about that," she said flatly. "You've embarrassed me so many times I think I lost all my pride a long time ago."

She half expected him to go pout in his dark corner, but he only laughed more loudly. "You know something? I'm a little bit proud of that."

"Yeah, well," she said, grinning, "I don't think I even mind, anyway."

Then he beamed at her, and she was so taken aback by the pure joy in his expression that she had to look away. But he simply took her hand again and said, "Now, Haruhi, listen close and listen carefully. What are your feelings on gelato?"

(Her feelings were strong to very strong. She ordered raspberry; he got chocolate.)

As the sun went down they made their way to the small park a few blocks from the go-karting, and watched the legions of birds swoop around and flutter over the rather pathetic little pond. Tamaki took to waving his arms and screeching, chasing them like a five-year-old, and Haruhi laughed so raucously she got a stitch in her side. How he managed to amuse her so infinitely, she had no idea; he had no limits when it came to energy or ideas or societal expectations. Finally he wore himself out and flopped dramatically onto the grass next to her, hair all over his face and chocolate stains near his lips.

She reached out thoughtlessly and wiped the stain away with her thumb; he licked the remains away and watched her a little longer than was necessary, until she looked away, blushing yet again.

"I didn't know I liked ducks so much," he said finally, lightening the mood.

She grinned. "I'm not sure if they like _you_, so much."

He leaned back on his elbows and shook his bangs out of his eyes. "It's a tragedy," he said in sorrowful dramatics. "A one-sided relationship. Unrequited love."

"Sounds heartbreaking." She used her most sarcastic voice.

"Haruhi," he sniffed, "you have no appreciation for the subtleties of life."

"I'd say you have a little too _much _appreciation," she chuckled.

"But look at them," he insisted, his voice suddenly serious. "Look at their wings."

She gazed upward into the very last rays of sunlight, mystified by his own enrapturement and by the fluttering of wings on a fiery navy backdrop.

Then it was rather dark, and they looked at each other uncertainly. Neither wanted to leave, and it was a little awkwardly that Haruhi said,

"You know something?"

"Hm?"

"I actually have a flashlight." She dug through her purse and flickered it on, into his face. He squinted, his hand automatically moving in front of his eyes.

"Why do you have that, exactly?" he asked.

She giggled. "No idea. Probably my dad's idea."

"Hmm." Tamaki rolled onto his back, and Haruhi painted patterns on his stomach with the light. "Does your dad still think I'm a good-for-nothing rapist?"

"Pretty much," she said with a snort, "but he let me come tonight, so I don't think he distrusts you _too _much."

"Maybe Kyouya will put in a good word for me," he said jokingly, and she giggled.

"Maybe."

"Do you think we'll get kidnapped out here?"

"We could always walk back. How did you get to my apartment, anyway?"

"Didn't you see?" he said, surprised. "I rode my bike."

She gaped. "_You?"_

He looked around. "Is there anyone else around here?"

She punched him in the arm. "You know what I mean! I thought you lived kind of far away."

"You thought wrong," he replied with an evil grin.

She shook her head, amazed. "Wow. The son of the mighty Suou, _biking _around town."

"Amazing, isn't it?"

"_I'm_ blown away."

They laughed and fell into a comfortable silence. Haruhi amused herself by shining the flashlight into the clear sky, and wondering how far the light would travel into space until it reached something to bounce back off of. Maybe in a million years, there would be an unexplained flash of light on this very spot, and it would be all because of _her _flashlight.

Well. Maybe not.

"Sky's so clear tonight," Tamaki murmured.

"Yeah," she agreed. "Yeah, it is."

* * *

The walk back home was long, and she found herself grateful for it. For one thing, she didn't want to say goodbye; and for another, she was a little… well… it was Tamaki, and… this was a _date_. And… she wasn't sure exactly what to _do_ at the end.

But Tamaki's hand was still in hers, and he made her laugh so many times she nearly forgot her anxieties until they were clumping up the stairs to her floor.

"Well," said Tamaki as they reached the door of the apartment. "I - I guess this is good-bye then."

Haruhi laughed. "You make it sound like it's going to be forever."

"Two days is a long time," he said, and somehow she couldn't tell whether he was joking.

"Well, I'll see you in physics on Monday, first thing," she said, digging in her bag for a key.

"Right," said Tamaki, too brightly. "Right. Great. That's good."

She could feel his eyes on her as she struggled in her purse. "Can't find my key," she explained with a nervous laugh. "Oh, ah… here we go." She turned to Tamaki and grinned up at him brightly. "Thanks for all this, Tamaki-senpai. I had a - a really good time."

"Me too," he said with a soft smile that sort of made her forget what she was supposed to do next. Damn his perfect French teeth. "We should - do it again sometime?"

She nodded vigorously. "Yeah. Yeah, definitely."

His smile widened. "Okay then." He pulled her into a hug, which she reciprocated with as much warmth as she could. "Good night, Haruhi," he whispered, and she felt him gently kiss her hair.

Something inside her seized up at the contact. It felt - familiar. Too familiar. Like… oh, that was it. This afternoon. When her father had done the same thing.

_But Tamaki-senpai… he used to call me his daughter, but now… _

Things had changed - right?

He released her, squeezed her hand one last time, and seemed to tear his eyes away forcefully. "See you Monday!" he called over his shoulder in a nonchalance that only Tamaki could manage.

She stood there, staring, the key limp between her fingers, watching him walk away. Determined, she turned to the door, stuck the key in the lock. But she couldn't quite make it turn.

Clump. Clump. He was going down the stairs now.

Clump. Clump. He was leaving.

Clump. Clump. It had been fun. She'd had a great time. So why did he leave her feeling so empty and terrified?

Clump. Clump.

She couldn't take it anymore.

"SENPAI!"

Leaving the key in the door and her purse on the mat, she flew down the stairs after him. She watched him turn in surprise, his slender hand resting on the rail, his pianist's fingers trembling slightly. Her blue skirt billowed in her wake as she reeled to a halt on the step just above him.

His eyes were wide and full and confused. He stared at her, and she stared at him, and then she erupted into a terrible blush and looked down at her feet instead.

"I just - um. I'm really glad you're… staying. Because things… they wouldn't be the same without you." _And neither would I._

And, gathering her nerve, she leaned up on her toes (though she was still a step higher than him) and pressed her lips to his cheek.

"Good night," she murmured in his ear, and, not daring to look him in the eye, she turned to ascend the stairs a second time.

She jerked to a halt as his arm shot out and seized her wrist. Gently but firmly, he whirled her around. His eyes were over-bright and blazing. "Haruhi," he said heatedly.

"Yeah," she breathed, paralyzed in his gaze.

His lips were slightly parted, and she could feel his warm, sweet breath on her face. His hand drifted up to her cheek and she twitched slightly, heart pounding, as his thumb ran over her skin.

He was getting closer, and suddenly his body was lightly aligned with hers, his arm around her waist, his thumb still stroking her cheek. Her heart was hammering its way out of her chest, and the frog in her stomach was unearthing all kinds of dry quaking apprehension. His nose sort of took over her field of vision, and she couldn't seem to look anywhere else. Slowly, tantalizingly, his hand moved back to cradle her neck, and his mouth was so close that she couldn't tell her own breath from his; she could practically taste the remains of chocolate gelato on his tongue.

Then his lips were on hers, and they lingered there for infinity; she was frozen.

Frozen.

Frozen.

Ever so slightly, he parted just a little, a hair's breadth between them, before gently moving in again, and again. The kiss was airy and light and dry, almost ethereal, like a sweet puff of air. And then he pulled away.

She was breathing erratically, and she felt hot and sharp in strange places; his face grew far away enough for her to focus on his eyes, and they were searing again with a deep and desperate emotion. She watched him, trapped and helpless, as he licked his lower lip and stared at her.

Her arms were dangling lifelessly by her side, and she lifted one, her hand gliding over his cheek before circling around his neck. The other hand rose and wove through his feather-soft hair, and she leaned in once more, tilting her head just so, her nose brushing against his. Her mouth was dry as paper, but she crossed the line once more and touched her lips to his.

His grip on her waist tightened, and his hand ran feverishly through her hair; his lips parted and then reconnected more quickly this time, and instead of just the dry outskirts she felt the moister part beneath; and then the kiss grew strangely wet, and a little humid, and a little faster, and she wasn't quite sure what she was doing, but she was moving, too, her mouth against his, and it was awkward and strange and good. Her eyes drifted closed, and her arms slipped around his neck, and she let out a tiny sigh against his nose.

Then they were laughing again, chuckling gently in each others arms, and he gently kissed her neck, and her jaw. "Haruhi?" he said again.

"Yeah."

"I really, really like you," he said quietly.

She shrugged a little, grinning madly by his ear. "I really, really like you too, senpai."

He distanced them to beam at her a bit, and she felt so powerful and overwhelmed with _fullness_, and then he was kissing her again, strong now, determined and purposeful, and she wasn't quite sure how to keep up with him, but she did her best and prayed to God it was good enough.

"Good night, Haruhi," he breathed into her ear, and kissed her one last time, fleetingly, and she hung a bit desperately over the railing as she watched him jog down to his bike. He waved to her enthusiastically before jumping on and pedaling off.

It might have been her imagination, but as she returned to her purse and key and door, she thought she heard a distant whoop of glee echoing down the street.

She still had trouble sleeping that night, but she that was alright. She smiled into her pillow as she heard her father come in around one thirty. She'd never in a million years tell him what had happened. That was her secret to keep.

She rolled onto her side and looked through the window at the sky full to the brim with stars.

* * *

Sorry if the ending's kind of abrupt. I'll gladly take any concrit you've got. (:

So I did write a rather citrusy scene between these two, but I'm not really sure about it yet. Just putting out a heads up that there may be something of that nature in the future.

I think that's it... Thanks for reading! Reviews are eagerly gobbled! xD

~ SB


	3. Fantaisie Impromptu

*GASP* - an update? I know, I'm shocked, too.

Disclaimer: I don't own Ouran HSHC or the concept of the metaphor. But then I don't suppose anyone really owns that concept. Although someone had to be the first to think of using a metaphor... eh. Whatever.

* * *

It was three in the morning and Tamaki couldn't sleep.

Every bone in his body ached with fatigue and felt a thousand times heavier than it should have, as if someone had filled him up with sand. He was sprawled on his face across his bed, his feet dangling off into deep space. He was kind of hungry, and he had a terrible headache.

All in all, he'd never been happier in his life.

The scene replayed over and over in his head: how he'd chickened out at the last second, kissing only her forehead; how she'd run after him; the way she stared him straight in the eye (he loved the way she looked everyone _straight in the eye_) and told him she was glad he was staying; the first feeling of her lips on his skin; watching her turn away; knowing it wasn't enough; and _kissing _her, dead on those beautiful lips, and feeling her kiss back _oh God… _

He couldn't stop grinning like a moron. He couldn't stop thinking. He couldn't stop wanting to fling open the window and cry out into the night, "_I love Fujioka Haruhi!"_

Because he did. He loved her. He had loved her for - well. He wasn't quite sure how long, exactly, because when it had hit him like a speeding train a few weeks ago, he'd realized it had been coming on for a good while. And it wasn't any kind of love. It was a head-over-heels, desperate, gut-wrenching, tear-jerking, heart-stopping love.

(But nothing else was to be expected, coming from him.)

It tore him to pieces, the sheer _volume _of it. It expanded to encompass the universe, and then some. He could have jumped to the moon; he could have captured a star, just for her, if she'd asked. He could have spent ten thousand years searching for some ancient… Greek… thing…

His thoughts faded as consciousness finally fled him.

(He was still smiling.)

* * *

Tamaki woke to a whapping sound and hot breath on his face. He peeled one eye open. Antoinette's nose poked over his bed, her big brown eyes gazing impatiently at him.

"Mmhh," said Tamaki. "Dog."

Whap whap whap. Her tail wagged against the floor.

"Go 'way," he grunted.

The wet nose nudged against his limp hand. Grudgingly, he lifted his arm and patted her brusquely on the top of the head. "Whattime'sit, anyway?" It was still darkish in his room, which seemed a bad sign. Leaning over his shoulder, he squinted at the clock. 5:12.

"How'd you even get in here?" he grumbled at Antoinette.

Nudge.

"No, I'm not petting you," he snuffled. "'m sleeping. See?" He rolled away from the dog and closed his eyes again.

With a sigh, Antoinette retreated, circled around a few times, and collapsed in a heap on the floor.

* * *

What with the adrenaline of victory pumping undiluted happiness through his veins, it took him by surprise when, in his dream, Haruhi was crying.

And he walked and he walked and he ran and he sprinted and he screamed toward her, but he couldn't get any closer, as much as he tried.

Soon enough, he felt what she felt - an all too familiar tidal wave of -

_No not this again please not this again - _

And Éclair tapped him on the shoulder and he whirled around and there were those _idiot _binoculars in his _face_. He shoved them out of the way and she pursed her lips and frowned at him.

"I thought you were supposed to be a _gentleman_."

"I'M SICK OF THAT!" he roared. "Why've I got to please _you?"_

"Because," she said. "Because you _do."_

"That's not a reason," he snarled.

She scratched thoughtfully at her cheek. "My, my. I've only ever seen you get _righteously _angry, Tamaki. Could it be you're just downright _mean _inside?"

"Everyone is, in the end," he snapped. "Why've I got to be any different?"

"You're a Suou," she said blandly. "You please people. It's your job."

"It's all they ever taught me!" he said, his voice rather shrill. "All I ever learned!" _And then these instincts take over, these _carnal _instincts, these oh-so-very _human _instincts, and I want to hate you now, not just quietly dislike you - I want to rip your throat out, I want to damn the world and smash it to pieces, I want to rip my way out of these bars and bellow and scream - _

And he turned around, and it wasn't Éclair, it was Haruhi, and she was still crying, and in her wide brown eyes he saw fear and disgust and horror.

He saw himself.

"You're not what you make yourself seem, are you?" said Haruhi.

"Never," he whispered.

"You pretend to be kind," she continued. "Kind and good and stupid. What are you, really?"

"I'm horrid," he murmured, taking a step toward her. "I'm horrid" - step - "and mean" - step - "and angry" - step - "and _evil." _He hulked over her menacingly.

"I don't believe you," she said.

"Of course you don't," he smiled. "You couldn't."

"I always thought too well of you," she admitted, returning his grin.

"Well," he suggested, smirking, "you could always reform me."

"What are you," she repeated, "_really?"_

"Honestly?" He threw back his head and laughed. "I've no idea."

She sighed. "Well, you'd best find out." And then she was gone.

He woke up with a strange stomach ache, but forgot about the dream as soon as Antoinette bounded onto his bed and began licking his face enthusiastically.

Damn dog. (Even if he did love it.)

He stared at the ceiling for a while, mindlessly petting the somewhat appeased Antoinette, who had curled up by his side and was busy shedding all over his sheets. Around eleven, he got up, brushed dog hair off his t-shirt, and stumbled down the stairs to find something to eat.

The day passed agonizingly slowly. He thought of Haruhi constantly with an irritable sort of queasiness in his gut. A thousand anxieties shot through his mind as he shoveled cereal into his mouth.

_What if it never really happened? What if this is the Matrix? What if she's changed her mind? What if it was too much at once? What if she doesn't come to school tomorrow? Should I track her down? Should I leave her alone? Should I send Hikaru and Kaoru to keep tabs on her?_

He called Kyouya.

"Well?" said his friend blandly.

"I'm in agony," Tamaki moaned.

He could almost hear Kyouya narrow his eyes. "What did you _do?_

"I kissed her," he sighed.

"Now do correct me if I'm wrong," said the other with a pained voice, "but I was under the impression that that was the _goal_."

"It was," Tamaki squeaked.

"_So?"_

"Well," said Tamaki impatiently, "what _now?"_

"You wait," said Kyouya.

Tamaki hung up the phone in despair. He was doomed.

Ignoring the heap of homework that had piled up over the previous week, he drifted down to the music room and slipped onto the piano bench. Listlessly, he broke into Chopin's Fantaisie-Impromptu. God, he loathed sharps. He detested them with all his being, and yet once they actually became a part of the music - no longer that little scratched key signature, but the solid black bar on the instrument before him - he understood why so many composers insisted on creating music in obscure keys like C# minor.

It was the _rush_. Christ in heaven, if there was a single adrenaline-inducer greater than Chopin's stupid little piece in C# minor, it would have to be… sky diving. Or hang-gliding.

(Or maybe kissing Haruhi.)

His fingers fumbled slightly, a little stiff and a little swollen, but gradually they picked up the pattern and the pace, his left hand pounding out steady triplets, his right glancing over the keys in trilling sixteenths. He poured out his frustration and his anxiety, let them flush away on a fat stream of gold-spun notes that flowed from his hands faster than water from a faucet. His mind mushed into a squelching blob of oatmeal-syrup and leaked out his ears, but he didn't much care. He moved in automation. He was everything, here - purpose, confidence, determination, success, control. He was _right_. He was _good_.

Ripping to a halt as he reached the tempo change, he paused, somewhat out of breath, as if he'd sprinted the notes instead of played them.

Because dammit, if he couldn't get her out of his head -

_Haruhi - _

Slow, now. Pensive, thoughtful, a frothing heartache. The tempo read _largo_, but the music felt too dynamic for such a thick glop of a word. He felt light and airy, and all at once grounded and sad. He was in love, and it was killing him to sit around and do _nothing_ about it.

As the piece began to mutate back into frenzied cacophony, he slipped away from memory and breezed into improvisation. He quickly lost track of Chopin's styling and began to plonk his way around the piano, filling out chords, his head buzzing with gradually resolving seconds in the treble clef and deep empty fifths in the bass. The fifths turned to octaves, the sixteenths to eighths, the solid rhythm to syncopation.

_Haruhi, Haruhi, Haruhi - _

She was… _his_.

A bright fifth brimmed through the air, his thumb solid on C as he descended to another second, slipped to a harmonious third. A simple scale pounded out a beat a few octaves lower. Then there was a flitting joyful tune, dancing exuberantly around the higher register. He moved into arpeggios, mirroring the scale in the bass. The fullness of the chords reverberated through him, and he exited easily into a feathery variation on the first tune.

He was soaring. Flying and reeling and in love. And it tore him to pieces, and he lapped up every moment of it.

"I haven't heard this before," said a low voice, and Tamaki jumped forty feet and glanced up. His father was standing in the doorway, his hand clasping the frame. "One of yours?"

Tamaki nodded dumbly.

"Now, Tamaki, I don't mean to pry, but I hear you were with Fujioka-san last night."

He deflated somewhat visibly. His father was worse than a preteen girl when it came to gossip about his students - Haruhi especially, now that Tamaki and she were somewhat… _involved_. "Yeah," said Tamaki. "I was."

"You both enjoyed yourselves, I hope?"

"I wouldn't know," Tamaki replied, a bit saucily. "Perhaps you should ask her instead."

"Don't be impudent," said Yuzuru lazily. "Now, Tamaki, if you plan on pursuing her…" He stopped.

"What?" Tamaki prompted him.

"Well… you _do _plan on pursuing her, don't you?"

He swallowed. "Well… I…"

"You do realize this isn't just any _fling_, don't you? Either you choose her for life, or you find someone else."

"For life?" he squeaked. His throat felt too dry.

"Naturally." Yuzuru scratched at his cheek. "There wouldn't be a point in wasting time on someone you're not serious about, now would there?"

Tamaki was silent.

"It's not an easy burden to bear," Yuzuru reflected, "but then, you've from the beginning that none of this would be easy, haven't you?"

"You've never let me believe anything different," Tamaki replied.

"And rightly so." Pausing, Yuzuru drummed his fingers against the door frame. "Well, what do you think?"

"What am I supposed to think?" asked Tamaki desperately. "I'm in love with her."

"Don't seem so desolate about it," said his father. "This is a chance I never had."

"I know," he muttered. "I know that."

"Your only duty, then, is this: take great pains to ensure that you do _not _fall out of love with her. Your capriciousness is something we can't afford in these sorts of fields."

"I'll do my best," Tamaki whispered, his eyes narrowed.

Yuzuru left rather abruptly and Tamaki fell back into the hands of Fantaisie-Impromptu. He felt nauseous and heavy and sharp inside, as if someone had filled him with needles.

_This is different. I _want _this. It's not like Éclair, because she was no one. Haruhi is everything. _

And yet it was far too similar for his liking… _Take great pains to ensure that you do not fall out of love with her…_

* * *

He decided it made no difference. As he brushed his teeth that night, he stared into the mirror and told his reflection that none of it mattered. He was still himself; Haruhi was still Haruhi; and whatever would happen would happen.

He spat.

"Really," he insisted to Antoinette, who was standing just outside the bathroom, her tail wagging. "It's just mind games he's playing. I'll just pretend none of it happened."

He dreamed again of her, of Éclair. They were high on a clouded mountaintop, with wind whirring through their clothes and hair, and Éclair was striking with her piercing turquoise eyes, and Haruhi was small and bewildered and lovely in every way. He watched helplessly from the sidelines as Éclair drew a long, thin blade from her belt and it flashed like a serpent's tongue in the dusty afternoon light.

"En garde," she murmured, smiling coyly.

Haruhi said, "If you want him that badly, take him. He's not what you think he is."

"Oh, he's exactly what I think he is," Éclair assured her, the tip of her blade twitching. "And I _like _him that way. It's delicious, isn't it, how horrid someone can be – someone so apparently _good_?"

"Horrid?" Haruhi said faintly. "I never said… _horrid_, exactly…"

"He's horrid," Éclair assured her. "Bitter and hateful and horrid."

"Human," Haruhi said in a small voice. "He's just human, he's got faults, but he's not made for being used the way everyone manipulates him – "

"And human's not enough for you?" Éclair said, smirking.

"Oh, it's enough," said Haruhi. "It's just a bit of a letdown when he makes you think he's the reincarnation of Buddha himself." Then she caught his eye and added, "But as far as humans go, he does pretty well. I think I might be willing to fight for that after all."

"So sudden a change?" Éclair taunted.

"It became clearer," said Haruhi, and the sun broke free of the clouds and blinded Tamaki, and the dream changed.

* * *

I could throw some crap at you and say that I intended for this chapter to be some sort of growing experience for Tamaki but that's a bunch of bull. I just wrote what attempted (but failed) to be a sort of analysis of his character and this came out. Sorry it's not too exciting. I'll throw some more TxH at you soon, no worries.

Also, sorry for like throwing the whole CLEAR SKY thing in your face at the end of every chapter. It's kind of my excuse for keeping the story relevant to the title. But it's also kind of lame. So. Yeah.

Cheers!

~SB


	4. Finale

Hello beautifuls. Have an ending. It is short. It is rushed. It is substanceless. All in all, it is perfectly consistent with the rest of this fic.

Wahoo.

* * *

Haruhi woke gasping, half-expecting to find herself over her head in icy water. Then she remembered she was at home, in her bed. On land.

_I hate water_, thought her half-awake brain. Which wasn't true. She actually liked water quite a bit, in reasonable increments.

She cast her gaze over to her alarm clock, which read 5:52. Shit. Only eight minutes left. She contemplated going back to sleep for those precious minutes, but knew she'd wake up even more tired if she attempted such a feat. Grudgingly, she rolled onto the floor, her face smushed into the carpet, and grunted.

"I hate mornings," she groaned incoherently into the ground, admiring her mind's variation in sentence structure. Dutifully she picked herself up, grabbed her towel from where it hung on her closet doorknob, and plonked into the bathroom for a shower.

The shower lasted far too long, as it always did, and when she got out she was considerably late for her bus. She dressed quickly, looping her tie around her neck, threw a bit of lunch together, and slipped out the door. After almost a year at Ouran, she was used to forfeiting her breakfast.

She only just managed to catch the bus on the corner of her block and plopped, quite out of breath, on one of the frontmost seats. Her bag heavy on her lap, she managed to fumble her tie into a hasty knot, and ten minutes later she jumped up and scuttled off the bus, bidding the driver a hasty farewell.

Her chest was fluttering like a hummingbird as she walked the two blocks to Ouran. At any flash of blue out of the corner of her eye, she jumped half a mile, before realizing that the boy wearing the blue jacket was, in fact, dark-haired. When a hand grasped her shoulder, she jolted and whirled around, her heart frozen between her lungs.

It was Kyouya.

"My, aren't we on edge this morning," he said drily, eyeing her with interest.

She exhaled forcibly. "Hi, senpai."

"_You_ look flushed," he observed.

"It's a warm day," she countered, frowning.

"Could it be I took you by surprise?"

She glowered. "Why are you so interested?"

"No reason." He pushed his glasses up his nose and glanced skyward. "Lovely morning."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah. Beautiful."

"Hm." Kyouya pulled out his notebook and scribbled something down.

"He- _hey!" _Haruhi screeched. "I didn't even do anything, what are you writing about?"

"What a presumptuous little thing you are," Kyouya noted lightly. "Why should I be writing anything about you? Besides the fact that you're in a particularly foul mood today, far more sarcastic than usual, and excessively impatient with me."

"Senpai, we've been talking for about twenty seconds."

"Nothing beats being observational."

Haruhi glanced toward the entrance to the school. "Right. Well, as pleasant as this has been, I have to get to class, so please excuse me…"

"Have fun," Kyouya murmured, turning away, scribbling rapidly into his notebook.

Haruhi whirled around. "_Fun?"_

"Hm?" Kyouya glanced up.

"What do you mean, have _fun?"_

Kyouya blinked. "I couldn't specify," he said finally. "It simply seemed the right sort of thing to say."

"Well… well just… good." She turned on her heel and marched away.

His airy laughter trailed behind her like a banner.

Her shoes clapped through the sparsely populated halls as she made her way to her first class. As she trekked past the first music room, she began to hear a faint hum of a melody wafting through the halls. A cluster of girls ahead of her peeped into the door to the second music room and giggled to themselves.

"He's so talented," one sighed as Haruhi approached.

"I know, I know!" her friend agreed. "See how focused he is?"

"Shhh, don't distract him!" cried the third in an unnecessarily hushed voice. "Come on, we're being pests…"

Haruhi hovered unnoticed behind them as she peered over their shoulders. A blond head was just visible over the graceful slant of the grand piano. "Pests? Lovely girls such as you?" said the ever-smooth voice of Suou Tamaki, who continued to play without missing a beat. "I'm only flattered that you'd stop and listen."

Haruhi snorted to herself. As if he didn't do it for the attention.

"Oh… well…" The girls blushed and tittered. "It sounds beautiful, Tamaki-kun."

"Really, it does! I've never heard anyone play as well as you."

The third nodded vehemently.

The trill of his laughter was like ripples of deep blue velvet. "By all means, then, stop by some other time. I'd be glad to play for you whenever you like."

_Oh yeah_, thought Haruhi. Boy_would you be glad_.

"Ah - alright!"

"Bye, Tamaki-kun!"

"See you this afternoon!"

He smiled his farewell and dove right back into his music. The girls moved, and then Haruhi's view of him was unhindered, a straight passage from her eyes to the glory of his outline, playing with a vibrant intensity that moved all the way through his neck, his shoulders, pooling past his wrists and into his fingers - not that Haruhi could _see _his fingers, exactly. She just - she just _knew_. She knew his passion well enough to know his hands. It just made sense.

Sort of.

She swallowed as his music crescendoed into a brilliant key change, and ducked quietly through the doorway, pressed herself against the wall. The contours of his face, wrought with concentration, almost pained her in their aching beauty, illuminated by the pale morning light. He seemed so alive, so somber, so empowered, all at once.

He glanced up and saw her as he pounded away at the keys, and a brief smile flitted across his face. "Haruhi," he said. "I didn't hear you come in."

There was something fearfully attractive in the way he could speak and play so powerfully at the same time. She wasn't sure what it was, exactly, but it was there, and it frightened her a little. Almost like if she discovered too much of his brilliance, she'd realize there was nothing she had to offer him that could possibly entice him to love her.

Er - _like_. _Like _her. Because she wasn't in love with him. At all. Not one smidge.

…well, maybe a smidge. A smidge wasn't really _that _much, anyway. A mite. A bit. A fraction.

"Come sit by me," he said, a quiet command, and she peeled herself from the wall, crept around the thrumming piano, slipped onto the edge of the stool next to him.

His fingers danced, and his foot pressed gently on the pedal, and he swayed slightly, his eyes half-lidded, and watching him, she knew she was in love. It was terrible. Just looking at him she got into this state, all flustered and red and heated, choking on her own tongue. She hated herself for it a little, because he did this to every girl who set eyes upon him, and her pride made her imagine she wasn't the average girl by any means.

_Well by this means, _said her franker side, _you are_.

Yet it wasn't as if she'd fallen for his smarmy host façade, all glossy words and superficial expressions. It was this undiluted emotion that ran deep through his bones that she adored, this devoted fervor with which he lived his life. So maybe - maybe she saw something more in him than everyone else. She hadn't fallen for his shell; she'd fallen for his heart.

Then she realized that he'd stopped playing and he was staring at her, his head tilted to one side.

"Oh," she said, jolting a little. "Ah - that was… really pretty…"

"What were you thinking about?" he interrupted. "You were really zoned out."

"Nothing," she said vaguely. "Just - nothing, really."

He looked so ridiculously crestfallen at her evasiveness that she shed her guard and pried herself open a crack, just for him. "Well - you, I guess."

"I'm nothing?" he teased.

"Wha - no! Of course not, I just… didn't want to… you know."

"You don't have to be shy," Tamaki said. "I always want to know what's on your mind." He sketched out a simple tune with the keys before them. "You are - very much a mystery to me, Haruhi." He leaned closer to her, dramatically, his eyes flashing. "But I like what I see."

She tutted her disbelief and folded her arms. He just grinned and dropped a kiss on her forehead before returning to his plain little song.

She contented herself with watching the way his fingers curved over each other as they reached for the notes until he said, amiably, as if discussing the weather, "What are we, exactly?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, knowing full well the implications of the question.

"I mean - what can I call you?"

"Haruhi?" she suggested, and he laughed. "I don't know," she continued. "What do you want to call me?"

"Haruhi's good," he said with some hesitation. "But… I'd like it even better if you were… if you were _my _Haruhi."

"You're not going to suggest some sort of relationship label?" she asked, her mockery hiding her surprise.

"Somehow," he chuckled, "labels don't seem to be up your alley."

She blushed. "Yeah, not really." She traced one of the black keys with the tip of a finger. "So… what do I get to call _you_?"

Then his eyes were in her face again, searing and earnest. "Yours," he declared. "Yours for as long as you want me, and then some."

She wilted. "Tamaki-senpai…"

"I mean it," he said heatedly. "I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it, Haruhi. Not to you."

"I - okay," she whispered.

"Do you believe me?" he demanded.

"Of course I _believe_ you," she said. "It's not a matter of believing you. It's a matter of… of…"

He waited.

"I don't know," said Haruhi finally, frustrated. "I have no idea."

He put an arm around her waist and tugged her close so that their hips were aligned. "Confused?"

"Very," she said. "But… but not about you, … there's so many factors, you know? Like… like… _factors._"

He pulled thoughtfully at his nose. "Usually," he said, "I don't have _this _hard a time understanding you."

"Usually," she replied, "I'm more eloquent." She exhaled and reminded herself that she could trust him. "I'm scared."

He smiled. "I was, too," he admitted, "but then I realized it was _you_."

"Right," said Haruhi. "Yeah. That's right."

"My father said something to me," he continued. "He said I'd better not just be fooling around – that I'd better be serious about you. Suous don't have time to waste in the frivolities of _casual dating_," he added with a sarcasm she rarely heard on his tongue.

Haruhi was quiet for a moment. "So – what does that imply, exactly?"

Tamaki let out a sigh and glanced at the ceiling. "I've decided – it doesn't really matter."

She hadn't expected that. "Oh…"

"Because I _am _serious about you," he plowed on, his eyes in her face again. "I'm _ridiculously _serious about you. I'm so serious about you that I'd probably _offend_ you…"

She cackled. "Somehow I don't think I'd be _offended_, exactly… but I'm not all that sure of things yet, senpai. I – I don't want to say something without meaning it. If you know what I mean."

"We'll take it slow," said Tamaki, nestling his forehead against her neck. "I won't tell you I love you for at _least _another month, I promise."

She giggled. "_That's _reassuring." She hoped he'd pick up on her facetiousness.

"Good." (So maybe he wasn't so sharp after all. Ah well. She'd train him.) He kissed her neck gently. "I suppose I ought to ask if you're planning on staying a boy?"

Sighing, she ground her teeth. "Can I get back to you on that?"

"Of course." His lips traveled up to her jaw. "Take all - " He kissed her chin. "The time - " Her nose - "You need…" Tilting his head, he leaned in and took her lips between his. Exhaling softly, she slid a hand around his neck and responded enthusiastically, falling into a sloppy sort of rhythm that neither of them completely understood. His fingers wound easily into her hair and he held her head so solidly between his hands and just _kissed _her, all wet and firm and soft.

A delicate cough tore them apart after a few minutes, and Haruhi glanced up to find Kyouya standing in the doorway, an irrepressible smirk on his face.

"Having _fun?" _he asked, and continued without waiting for a response, "Someone will see you, you know."

"Then help us out, mother dear, and close the door," Tamaki said impatiently.

Kyouya bowed sarcastically and pulled the door shut behind him.

"Don't we have to go to class?" Haruhi bit her lip wryly.

"In a minute or two." Tamaki grinned and pulled her closer still so she was practically on top of him. "I wasn't finished."

"_Well _then," said Haruhi, rolling her eyes, but her sarcasm was interrupted when he began to kiss her rather thoroughly again.

Not that she minded much.

* * *

Oh, Kyouya. You just know everything.

Anyway, sorry this wasn't my best. I kind of just wanted to slap an ending on it so I can devote my attention to Greater of Two Evils. Because I enjoy angst-fluff so much.

Maybe, _someday_, I'll write something with a plot. ...nah, that's what original fiction's for. Heh.

Anyhow, thanks for reading! Cheers!


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